For the first time in his memory, Zhair'lo didn't want to wake up. The wagon rumbled underneath him and he knew the other Soldiers would view his lack of desire to rise as a weakness. A day and a half ago, he had crawled off a caisson to prove the strength of his legs on behalf of the comrades who had stood up for him. Yesterday evening, he had managed to walk down to a river to wash himself up.
Today he felt the dark circles under his eyes, saw the flashes of shadow in his poison-battered recollections of the night before. He'd put every last bit of his effort into overcoming their potion, attempting to spoil the Temples' collective intentions not out of rebellion or because of a desire for freedom, but simply to spite them for the pain they'd inflicted.
If the miserable pettiness of his intentions hadn't sufficed to humiliate him, his failure had completed the mission.
Zhair'lo had felt so wise when he'd outsmarted their test and they'd cleared him for weapons training. He'd warmed with the sense of his inner strength when he'd endured so many women at the Fighter's Initiation. Even when he'd become the Conduit for this expedition, he'd told himself his goals of subterfuge and investigation made him the one in control.
'Sheer delusion,' he now concluded. 'Their potions can make a fool of me with ease.'
The cart rumbled on, following a relatively smooth, well-worn path, and Zhair'lo became aware of breathing at his side. Amidst the grinding of gravel underneath the wheels, a faint, foreign heartbeat, radiated up through the wood under his head. His body had reached a new level of sensitivity. Listening carefully, but never opening his eyes, he knew who exhaled beside him.
"Bree," he croaked.
"Zhai?" a subtle hesitancy modulated her voice, so unlike the warrior's edge he expected.
He opened his eyes, looking up to see her face, and in the depths of her gaze saw a reflection of his own terrible state.
"That bad?"
Bree squeezed her lips tightly.
"You want something to eat?" she nodded her head toward his left. "There are almonds and stuff in a bowl."
"I missed breakfast?" Zhair'lo shook his head to clear it.
"And lunch," Bree reached past him for the bowl. "You've gotta eat something, okay?"
The pleading tone in her voice registered and a chill overcame him then as he wondered how bad he looked.
"Yes, ma'am," he looked away from her. The pity in her eyes would have stung too much.
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"He's awake," Talla whispered as she walked.
"I can't see through all these bodies," Shanata craned her neck. "Are you sure?"
"I don't need to see him to know," Talla pointed out. "Not when we're this close."
Shanata studied Talla for a moment, wishing she had some background on the subject of meshes of any kind, never mind whatever linked Talla to Zhair'lo. The scientists in Pussy or Within had access to all sorts of research. A Sorceress, Queen or Goddess probably had direct experience with the phenomenon. Without such knowledge, Shanata found the whole situation creepy, an impression enhanced by the glazed look that came over Talla when she sought the strange link she shared with Zhair'lo.
"How is -?"
"Terrible," Talla's eyes darkened. "They used one of their potions again, to make him have sex with one of the Seconds."
"To reinforce the Perfection," Shanata nodded, glad to find herself firmly on magical ground she understood. "Necessary because of his youth."
"It's killing him," Talla's voice had gone flat. "Whatever they're doing with their potions, it's wearing him down, eating him from the inside out, destroying who he really is."
Shanata, having no response, looked ahead.
"How much longer does he have to hold out?"
"Tonight and tomorrow night," Shanata said. "The day after that we'll be in Beshenna and his trial will end."
"Not soon enough," Talla's voice cracked, but she marched on, the pain in her legs now dwarfed by the pervading sense of dread filling her mind.
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Protocol generally allowed only one rider per wagon, an honour reserved solely for each wagon's driver. The front most wagon, however, always held a spot for a woman with a large number of Facial upgrades to stand and keep watch over the paths ahead. The women rotated through the spot approximately once per bell or half bell, on the theory that no one could maintain a perpetual state of alertness.
By the second bell after high noon, as well as an hour glass could track bells while being rattled aboard a wagon, the honour of that post had fallen to S'ree, an Acolyte II of Facial. She kept her eyes shaded and sharp, constantly scanning the winding trail ahead. For most of the journey, this duty required little effort for someone with her attributes. As they crested a hill and began to descend its far side, however, she had much more path to watch. Not only did it wind down into a valley, but also crawled back up its far side to a narrow pass.
As her sharp eyes repeatedly scanned the valley, she spotted movement and focused her vision, glad she didn't have to squint into sunlight.
"Master Kendrick! A runner!" S'ree shouted from her perch atop the lead wagon.
"From Beshenna?" a thick brogue replied.
"Certainly on the road from there," the Acolyte kept her eyes ahead. "She is accompanied by two Rangers. I can see their cloaks. They are walking down the centre of the trail ... they appear to be making themselves visible on purpose."
A moment later, a third Ranger appeared out of the trees near the front wagon, a woman breathlessly finding her way to where both Gillian and Kendrick walked. She threw her hood back off her golden hair.
"Hera?"
"She does come from Beshenna, Master Kendrick," Hera gasped for air, undoubtedly having heard the entire conversation between Kendrick and S'ree. "I have spoken ... spoken to her already."
"What does she say?"
"Much more, I imagine ... once she catches her breath," Hera's chest heaved with her own exhaustion. "But the Enraged are already making trouble ... and that was over a day ago when she left ... hoping to run into us."
"Was that all?" Gillian asked.
"No, Mistress," Hera's voice began to even out. "She has some detail as regards the most secure entry path to the Temple, but we felt it wiser to debrief her en masse."
Kendrick called up to S'ree on the cart, "How far away are they?"
S'ree paused thoughtfully, sizing up the path and the steepness of the valley.
"Quarter of a bell, sir," she replied finally. "Perhaps a bit more. I don't know how hard she's been running."
"Summon the Chiefs," Gillian turned to Kendrick. "We'll let her catch her breath and talk to her in half a bell."
"Aye, Mistress," Kendrick nodded and turned to find messengers.
